I keep a hand at her back as we start up the marble staircase leading into the building, followed at a discreet distance by my security detail.
Lizzy tilts her head back, studying the carvings over the entrance as we pass through the glass doors. “What does that say? I confess my Latin is rusty.”
“Nature is the mother of art.” I lift a hand to the pretty older woman waiting for us by the ticket desk at the center of the atrium-like main hall.
Lizzy makes a soft sound of appreciation low in her throat. “I love that. It’s beautiful. And true, don’t you think?”
“I do,” I murmur, hoping she’ll still think creation is beautiful once she realizes the surprise I have planned for this morning. Heart beating faster—chances are I’ll have answers within the hour—I turn to introduce the women. “Thalia, this is Elizabeth Rochat, my fiancée. Elizabeth, this is Thalia, a steadfast and tireless supporter of the arts. And my partner in crime this morning.”
Thalia laughs as they shake hands.
Lizzy smiles, but shoots a vaguely distrustful look my way, proving she’s no fool.
“It’s my pleasure,” Thalia says, releasing Lizzy’s hand and waving us forward through the lobby into the antiquities exhibit. “I’m always happy to arrange something special for our guests. Especially for you, your highness. We couldn’t fund the cultural enrichment programs without the help of your foundation. We’re all so grateful.”
I wave away her thanks. “Anything to help preserve our living history.”
“Well, we’re certainly doing that.” Thalia casts a glowing smile over her shoulder. “The glass blowing and bead making classes are a huge hit, and we’ve already sold out all the spots in our midsummer dressmaking class.” She wrinkles her nose as she points a finger at Lizzy. “But we’ll always make room for you, Princess. Any time you want to come sew with us, just give me a ring. Our girls would be thrilled to sew with a professional. This morning, we’ve got a traditional hat pattern pulled for you, but midsummer is just around the corner. It could be fun to sew your own dress for the party, yes?”
“Yes, th-thank you so much,” Lizzy says with her usual stutter. But it’s always present when she speaks with strangers, and she shows no other outward sign of distress.
If she’s concerned about spending the morning with a sewing machine she doesn’t know how to use—I have it on solid authority from my source that Lizzy is the only triplet who knows how to sew—she’s keeping her fear under lock and key.
I study her out of the corners of my eyes, willing her to break, but her features remain calm and composed…right up to the moment her heel catches on the floor and she pitches forward, going down fast.
I lunge for her, but I’m too late. By the time my hands come to her upper arms, she’s already on the ground, whispering a Rinderland curse word beneath her breath.
“Princess, oh my goodness, are you all right?” Thalia leans down, helping me lift Lizzy off the cold stone floor.
“Yes, but I think I—” She breaks off, wincing as she holds out her right arm. “I think I m-might have sprained my wrist.”
Thalia sucks in a breath through her teeth. “Oh, no. It looks swollen, doesn’t it? Let me get some ice. I’ll be right back.” Thalia scurries back the way we came, throwing her next words over her shoulder, “I keep telling the board that we need to fix the uneven spots in the floors. Maybe now they’ll finally listen. I’m so sorry!”
“It’s fine,” Lizzy says, waving her good arm. “No serious d-damage done.” Her lips remain curved in a tight smile until Thalia disappears around the corner, presumably headed to some secret staff room to fetch ice.
The instant the docent is out of sight, Lizzy’s face crumples, and another soft Rindish curse puffs into the quiet air.
“I’m sorry.” I rub a hand up and down her back, torn between wanting to comfort her and the sneaking suspicion that she did this on purpose. After all, if she’s injured, she can’t very well sew a traditional hat pattern, now can she. “Is that the word that means ‘your father sleeps with sheep?’” I ask, hoping to lighten the moment for both of us.
She glances up, surprise flickering in her eyes. “You know Rindish?”
“Just the curse words. When we were teenagers, my brothers and I collected profanity from across the globe.”
Her lips twitch into a grin, but the pain lingers in her eyes. “Yes, it literally means ‘your father violates sheep,’ but we use it the way the English use ‘hell’ or ‘damn.’ Words like that.” She shakes her head as she gingerly lifts her arm, studying her wrist, which already looks more swollen than it did before, making me feel awful for thinking the worst of her.
If she faked a fall to avoid sewing, she wouldn’t have actually hurt herself.
Would she?
How far is this woman willing to go to keep me from finding out the truth? And what in the devil am I going to do now that my last-ditch plan to out her has gone up in flames?
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her brows furrowing. “Have I ruined our field trip? I don’t think I’ll be able to sew anything for at least a few days.”
“Not at all.” I wrap an arm around her shoulders and hug her close, marveling that she can feel so right in my arms when nothing about this engagement is going as planned. “We can still take in the exhibits. As long as you feel up to it, of course. If not, we can head back to the castle. Or to the hospital, if you think it might be fractured. There’s a secret entrance for members of the royal family.”
She shakes her head. “No, I don’t need to go to the hospital. I’m almost positive it’s just a sprain. I’ve hurt this wrist before. I can be such a klutz sometimes. I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing,” I insist. “I’m just glad you’re all right.”
“Thank you,” she whispers, “and Andrew, I just want you to know—”
She’s cut off by Thalia’s forcibly cheery voice shouting, “I found an ice pack and an ACE bandage! We’ll have you patched up in no time, Princess.”
By the time we’ve iced Lizzy’s sprain for fifteen minutes while enjoying a private tour of the ancient Greek funerary exhibit narrated by the knowledgeable Thalia, wrapped Lizzy’s arm, and bid our guide goodbye to show ourselves around the rest of the museum, my fiancée has forgotten whatever it was she wanted me to know.
When I ask her about it, she blushes and bobs a shoulder, “I’m sorry, I don’t remember. But if I do, I’ll let you know.”
“Please do,” I murmur, pretending to be absorbed in the contemplation of an impressionist painting of a floating man and woman kissing against a field of blue and pink flowers.
But the only thing I’m truly contemplating is what to do with Lizzy/Sabrina, this woman whose company I enjoy so much, even as she continues to thwart me at every turn.
Chapter Eighteen
Sabrina
My wrist throbs, and my stomach aches with hunger, but I refuse all of Andrew’s offers to hit the café or leave the museum early.